


Say hi to God

by Dan_iel



Category: Heathers (1988), Heathers (TV), Heathers: The Musical - Murphy & O'Keefe
Genre: Blood and Injury, F/M, Graphic Description, Mild Gore, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-23
Updated: 2019-02-23
Packaged: 2019-11-04 08:30:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17895053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dan_iel/pseuds/Dan_iel
Summary: In which Jd doesn't die but . . .





	1. Chapter 1

-Say hi to God

I hear her voice. I hear it. I hear it. I hear it. I hear it.

Over the cheers from the gym.

Over the screaming pain in my abdomen.

Over the ticking of the time-bomb cuddled in my arms.

Over her weeping, few feet in front of me. Close. Too close. A small smile forms across my face because; if in my hand really laid a real bomb, then those few feet wouldn't be enough. Not to come out of the explosion unscathed.

The smile breaks because the bomb says 3.

And I hear the echo of her voice, the echo of my voice repeating and repeating. A broken record.

-Our love is God

-Hope you’d miss me

-Say hi to God

Again, and again, and again. In my head.

Over the voices in my head.

The ones that, just before Veronica arrived, told me to defuse the bomb. And I did.

Because it was too impulsive.

Even for me.

Even if in that moment I though she was dead. Killed, by that same society I tried so hard to shield her from. Failing.

She believes there’s good in everyone. Everyone can change. When we were at Heather’s, the time I first deceived her, she was dead set in changing Chandler. Like that could’ve really happened. That time, I needed to take the situation under control. Veronica didn’t know what she was doing. Idling in mere fantasies was only going to prolong her suffering. The same suffering the brought her to me. To which I don’t know if I should be grateful or resentful.

Because I don’t think we were meant to be.

We: Me and Veronica, as a whole. We are meant to hurt each other. For I want to protect her from everything, and she, wants to protect me from everything. Furthermost I, bring destruction everywhere I go. It runs in the family. To destroy. Devastate. Demolish.

While her, Veronica, she doesn't deserve any of this. I thought, I could give it to her, I could change, become better, become sane. Because I really do feel sane with her. The problem is everyone else. And me, part of this latter.

People don’t change. They become more and more what they were meant to be.

We weren’t meant to be. And the world decided on a pretty cruel way to prove it.

But she really doesn’t deserve this.

People don’t change, but I can’t go and destroy everything; just like I was shown growing up, because ultimately, _everything_ isn’t the problem. The problem is me. I should be destroying me. No one else should pay or suffer for what I am. Especially not Veronica.

I defused the bomb right before she arrived, storming in with her croquet bat, growling me to get away from the contraption. I defused it so that it would only release a cloudy fog in the air, pretending to explode.

What happened next is history.  
What’s happening now is the bad ending of a story.

Our story.

I shut my eyes closed, shut them so tight I see red and black, stars, galaxies, Hell and whatnot.

Trying not to listen to the other voice in my head. One of the myriad. The one that almost shot Veronica when she arrived, because she was going to be safe dead. Safe. And she was finally going to stop pestering me while I’m only trying to help her. Save her. From everyone.

The other voice screams at the screaming, bleeding pain in my abdomen, right under my lungs. I think the impact, being so close, fractured my ribs. It is screaming in joy. Because of the pain. The pain I deserve, for all I’ve done. It’s what I deserve. It’s even too light to be fair. I deserve far worse.

The bomb says 1, and then it goes off.

Behind the white cloud and under the ringing of my ears for the explosion, I see Veronica. She’s crouched on her knees, not looking directly in my direction, crying. I wish I could never see her cry again. With me gone, I wished she would stop crying for good. Yet there she is, weeping.

I feel my eyes going heavy. Maybe I really am dying.

The ‘bomb’ is still in my hands, now scorching hot. It’s probably burning my fingers, though I don’t feel any of that. I only feel Veronica’s cry.

My fingers are going to start swelling up soon, full of pus and cooked skin and blood. My abdomen is still watering red thick juice.

I lift myself on my feet, wobble not little, trying to not make a commotion.

Because I should be dead. Veronica is completely sure I’m dead.

I should remain dead before the fog disperses.

With light, and wobbly, steps I turn my back to her and walk toward home.

Or, former-home now. What was home for a couple of months-home.

I drag my feet, my heavy feet, my heavy broken heart and my heaviest mind full of voices home.

 

* * *

 

 

-Hey, champ. All ready to go?

My toxic glory of a father greets me in the living room, beer in hand, beers scattered everywhere, pile of clothes in the other hand. He didn’t notice anything. He doesn’t care.

-Yeah, just need to pack the last things.

I clutch the ‘bomb-that-isn't-a-bomb-any-more-because-it-didn't-blow-up’ and start to climb the stairs.

-What’s that gloomy face, Jason? If it’s for your girlfriend you ain’t worry. Now days it’s much easier to keep in touch. You can call each other every day or hell, you can come back visiting!

He yells at my back. I know that this is probably the rare occasion he’s trying to behave as a parent. I know he’s trying to make me feel better. But he doesn’t know.

-I know pop. Thank you.

I mumble, not making sure he heard, and finish climbing up this deadly stairs to my room.

There, I slam the ‘‘‘‘‘‘‘bomb’’’’’’’ on the floor, pick up a few clean clothes from the box where I’d put them in and head to the bathroom.

There, I examine the damage.

And curse to myself. At myself.

The bullet is still in. That’s why it hurt so fucking much.

As I take the tweezers, one voice tugs me to push the bullet inner. I shiver in cold blood, feeling the power and pull all the voices have on me. That same power that lets them win, and take control. I swallow, slapping myself to keep focused, without passing out before I take the bullet out. My hands sweat, they sweat and slip and it’s annoying. It’s making me go crazy. At least it would, if I wasn’t already. My burnt hands burst, the swelling from the scorching ‘’bomb’’ has burst and now there’s blood and pus and sweat on my burnt hands. The hands tremble, shake, shiver and sweat; making a mess. The cold, ice tweezers shiver, shake and tremble, touching the open wound, touching and touching the open inner flesh. It twist and convulses and I almost lose balance for an involuntary jerk of the nerve inside my leg. The blood has started to drip on the tiled floor. White, shiny and pearly. Red, dull and opaque. My hand, soaked in blood and pus, has started to drip on the floor.

Eventually the tweezers get a hold on the bullet. I don't breathe, don’t move, knowing this about to happen is the worse part.

I rip it out.

My hole body is possessed by spasms; the tweezers and the bullet tinkle inside the sink, like sparkly jewellery, bouncing for a bit. I lose control of all the voluntary functions in my body, my power of choice gets torn by the Pain. I don’t think the word pain can even contain all of That. My own container, the hollow shell with my organs and whatnot inside; it doesn’t know how to react to this much Pain. I fold in half. In my closed eyes I see the ghost of the past few months. Veronica, Westerburg High, Heather, Heather and Heather, Kurt and Ram. All that I did is going to haunt me forever, but I will bear this burden, Veronica will have none of this. My ‘death’ signals the end of her suffering. The start of something better.

Before I turned to leave, I saw her stand up, wipe away the tears and look directly at me, without seeing me. She was determined, a fire burned inside her eyes. That determination of her I’ve always loved and envied, because it was never going to be mine. Nor her or her determination. There was also something else in her eyes, an understanding. The same understanding that would have probably saved me, if she’d got it sooner. She understood, what was wrong, how it was wrong. She saw history in me and in what we were those past few months. I am her history, and she has learnt from it. I know she is going to make things better; she knows how to. Before I turned, she laid her weapon down; and her eyes told me she is never going to hold it again.

It’s for the best. What I did.

We weren’t meant to be. I was simply a variable, a passing storm, in her life. The wonderful life she has ahead of her. Of which I am not part of.

I am a variable in my own life. I don’t belong anywhere nor I ever will.

I’ll remember her, for her only made me feel, even though fleetingly, like I was exactly where I was supposed to be.

I open my eyes and realise I must’ve passed out for an hour or so. Getting up reveals itself to be tricky for I slip on my own blood trying to stand. My face slams on the tiled floor. This is going to leave a scar.

I get up on my knees and my throat convulses as it tries to empty my already empty stomach on the tiled floor. There is a pool of blood, that I was laying in. Blood coagulates, making my hair stick to my face, blood soaks my clothes, or only my pants actually. My hands keep slipping on the lake on the tiled floor when I stand on my two feet.

I examine myself in the mirror.

I look deceased.

Not only dead; I look like I’ve come walking from the obituary, where I belong. Waiting to be incinerated.

The hole in my stomach stings. Although I don’t think it’s severe as in I’m going to pass out forever or bleed till there’s no more blood to shed.

I turn on the shower, not even bothering to turn it on hot and walk in, clothes blood and all.

I stay there, sat inside the bathtub, for another hour or so. It feels like an hour or so anyway.

When I’m tired of soaking in cold water I stand. I get rid of my pants and grab a towel, throwing it on my neck. It’s a house of only men, we’re pretty shameless, it’s routine to make the way from the bathroom to my room naked. In the bathtub I made sure to scrub away the blood, cursing under my breath when soap got in the hole inside my stomach, but I know I should disinfect all the wounds.

The bathroom is a mess. I have no idea how I’m going to clean it. I decide not to. I throw the towel resting on my shoulders on the pool of blood, and reach for the cabinet. I curse again under my breath putting the medicine on the hole on my burnt burst hands, and on the new cut I have above my eyebrow, from the face smack with the tiled floor. I bandage and plaster everything, now I look like a mummy. The hole hasn’t stopped bleeding so I reckon I’ll need to change the bandages frequently. I also make a mental note to make a visit to the doctor in the new city.

When I was soaking in that freezing water I decided on something. There’s one last thing I gotta do in Sherwood Ohio.

I throw on some clothes quickly; not so quickly actually because my bandaged hands are clumsy and annoying. Then sprint for the door, leaving the bloodied bathroom and my father which doesn’t ask me any questions, again, behind.

 

* * *

 

 

I knock three times before the door jerks open in front of me.

Veronica’s mother sighs and expressed all her worries about her daughter to me, also asking me if I’m alright, to which I let out an ugly titter that I regret the second after. Because a stranger is more concerned about my well-being than my own father.

Furthermore I wonder how this woman still trusts me, surely Veronica must have told her what I am.

Still, I need to carry out what I came here to do. So I tell her:

-Don’t worry ma'am, Veronica is perfectly fine. I met her at school when she came at the pep rally

At this Mrs Sawyer wipes away her tears and leads me inside, for a cup of coffee; that even wanting I can’t refuse, seeing how she pulls me in with very little trouble.

Inside, sat in her living room and with the promised cup of steaming coffee, I finally say what I came here to say.

-Would it be possible to entrust you with a message for Veronica?

I touch the piece of paper in my pocket.

-Oh, but of course dear. Veronica never talked much about you, but you must be a very good kid. I can see it looking at you. Even through this difficult period, with all her classmates… You have been a real support for her, I know this.

Mrs Sawyer’s eyes are kind, she really means what she said. I want to tell her of how much that is wrong, but I bit my tongue instead.

-Yes. Your daughter is… She is…

I can’t help the tears bottling inside my throat. I take a deep breath.

-She is wonderful.

Mrs Sawyer smiles.

I continue.

-Could you please give this letter to her when she comes back home?

-Yes, of course, dear.

I pass her the envelope in my pocket, a little wrinkled. One word is written on it.

She looks at it, and smiles again. This time it is a bittersweet smile, both sad and happy. It’s weird. Absurd, but I think she understands way more than she should. A mother's instinct.

I abruptly get up and Mrs Sawyer does the same.

-I should be going now, my father must be wondering where I am.

It’s hard to keep a straight face saying this lie, the last part almost makes me snicker.

-Thank you for stopping bye, I’m sure Veronica will be glad.

I nod one time, slowly.

I keep thinking about the content in the letter, on the way ‘home’, as I finish packing and load everything in the car and finally in the car, on the way home. I keep thinking about the letter, Veronica and those fleeting few months for a long time.

 

* * *

 

 

-Veronica, dear. How was the rally?

-… It was nice.

-Oh, before I forget. Your boyfriend, Jd stopped by. He told me to give this to you.

-Jd?

-Yes, he was so sad, dear. You should’ve seen him. He looked so apologetic. I don’t know the details of what you two are going through, but I believe you should give him a second chance.

-Mum, are you sure it was him? Because it can’t be. It just can’t.

She then hands me a white envelope, with a single word scribbled on it.

_Love._

I hold the envelope, read the letter, and the world ends, while it moves on. I won’t ever get over Jd, nor forget about those eventful few months. Not for a long time.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Love

 

_Dear Veronica,_

_the love of my life probably. I am convinced I will never find someone like you again. You were the only one that, for the first time in my life, made me imagine a future with me in it. A future further than a few months. You, are so wonderful. You don’t even see the half of it._

_I know you’re going to make it better, you’re going to build a future at Westerburg High. With all those people that, for you, can change. That I thought couldn’t change. I believe you can make them change. Only you. And please do._

_You will be surprised of this letter. Because I am dead. But not really._

_And I hope this makes you happy, a little bit at least._

_I also must tell you that you will never see me again._

_I hope this also makes you happy._

_I’d be too egoistic wishing for you to miss me. I don’t deserve it._

_These are the last words I’m leaving you. Please keep them close but not too much. You need to go on and live your wonderful life, your bright future awaits you. I can’t be part of it._

_I really believed our love was God. I wished we would build our garden together._

_I know we won’t. But our love is God. I love you more than any believer would ever love their God, more than any lover ever loved his beloved._

_Hi._

 

_Jd._

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments are very much appreciated loves


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